Messages Underneath the Surface

Alice Dai

Messages Underneath the Surface

Olivia studied the vintage menu that hung on the wall of Munchie’s Coffee and Tea House. Not that she had to.

Before she got to the front of line, her favorite barista—whose name tag had a hastily scrawled “Patches” on it— said, “Olive, hot honey lemon tea with ice on the side!”

Olivia, mildly surprised by Patches’ gesture, walked to the pick up table and smiled at him. He looked over in her direction for just enough time to give her a quick wink and to say, “It’s on the house, Olive.”

No one ever called her nicknames; it was always just Olivia, but since Patches was giving her a free drink, she decided it was a fair exchange.

Tea in hand Olivia walked over to one of the shop’s book-lined walls. She perused through a collection of romantic novels and picked a particularly worn out book as she swiftly plopped down onto an upholstered armchair.

Just as Olivia was about to take her first sip, Patches shout-whispered from across the shop, “Olive, the ice!”

Olivia blushed as she took a couple of ice cubes and dunked them into her tea. She mouthed a thanks to Patches as he was grinning from her near mistake.

* * *

Summer was almost coming and it was hitting the low eighties outside, but that day was no different; Patches wore his Wednesday patched sweater: navy blue cashmere with olive green elbow patches, paired with shorts and flip flops.

The first time Patches told Olivia to take her tea with ice, she looked at him with a little cock of her head, as if the idea never crossed her mind. He’d never seen anyone else make that look; eyes glimmering with playfulness, mouth slightly curved with amusement. It was like she was sending messages to him without words.

As Patches worked, he stole glances at Olivia, but she didn’t looked up from reading that day. I’ll talk to her when she’s done with her tea, he thought. But, I probably shouldn’t do this.

I can’t back down today. He reasoned. No matter what. I can’t mess it up this time. She won’t judge me. At least I hope she won’t. Oh, god. If she judges me, what will that make her? Shallow, probably. This is a really bad idea. I can’t do this… but I have to.

Olivia took the last sip of her tea as she neared the end of her book. Deep breath….

“Hey, Olive,” Patches waved as he walked over to her as confidently as possible. His hands were shaky and his body suddenly felt the coolness of the air conditioned store. Olivia looked up from her book.

“Hi, Patches. Thanks for the tea.” She gave him the look again. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“I know sometimes people think that putting ice in your hot tea is a little unconventional,” Patches blurted out.

“Yeah, but it’s pretty good. It was a little weird at first, but who knew, right?” Olivia replied.

“Well, I’m glad you like it, Olive. That was just kind of a little thing that I wanted to share with you. Plus, you’ll never burn your tongue again,” Patches joked nervously.

“Patches, don’t worry.” She gave him the look again. “I don’t care what other people think. Tea is tea, and plus it’s good. And I don’t care that you like to wear sweaters on summer days, because I don’t know, I like your sweaters,” she said matter-of-factly. “What’s going on? I am pretty sure you didn’t come here to tell me that you like ice,” Olivia teased, eyebrow raised.

He nodded. No, I didn’t, he thought. And slowly, he took off his sweater. At first, it was just his shoulders. As Olivia waited for him to do something, he quickly shed the sweater, letting it fall to the floor, his bare arms revealing white burn patches that ran down his arms. They looked splotchy, like dozens of Rorschach ink blots covered his arms.

The kitchen crumbled around me. Homemade Sunday morning breakfast was always my favorite. I turned away from the stove for one minute. Just one. There was a flurry of red and orange and confusion and pain and then a hospital room and a monotonous beating of the machine. Nurses were there. The lights numbed my eyes. I’ve been like this since then. No one knows. But now you do. Now you know why I wear sweaters on these summer days. It was all my fault.

“I know you just come here to get tea, but I wanted you to know. I don’t know why, but I just did,” Patches didn’t know what to do next. I messed this up. Olive’s going to leave, and my walls will crash down again.

Olivia nodded and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She looked at his arms as if she were trying to find meanings in the patches of his skin.

He couldn’t stand her looking at him. He couldn’t look at her; he wanted to see anything but her. Then, Olivia locked her gaze onto his eyes, and he couldn’t look away.

“This is all of you,” She gave him the look. “You’re very cool.”

He let go a breath of relief, and his body relaxed into a laugh. Patches looked at her. His eyes stayed focused on hers, as if he were waiting for her to speak, daring her to ask a question, anything.

She looked back at him no differently than she had when she first walked in. Her eyes blazed with curiosity. Tell me everything they whispered. Olivia closed her book in an airy declaration and moved her feet from the armchair’s footrest. He sat down next to her.

“It was my fault,” he murmured.

“Patches…” she said even softer.

“Olive…” he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Her eyes crinkled into a smile.

Forgive yourself, they said.